A Reason To Stay
by closeto30
Summary: A twist on what could have happened at the end of 3x09 if things had gone differently for one of the Stitchers team. One-shot Camisher.


#RenewStitchers4... and in the meantime, share the great love our fandom is so proud of!

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It was only when Detective Quincy Fisher drained the last of the bottle of whiskey into his glass that he realised that he might be a little drunk, but he also realised that he was on the wrong side of caring if that was a problem. Dropping a few ice cubes into the glass and finding a deep satisfaction at the clinking sound they made, Fisher first took a sip of the single malt and then meandered out of his kitchen towards the living room, where he'd left the television playing some late night movie that was more for background noise than actual distraction. A seemingly unpatterned knock on his front door halted his stroll towards the couch, and after cocking an eyebrow curiously, Fisher altered his course in order lay eyes on his late night caller. That eyebrow rose even further when he opened the door, and found Camille Engelson leaning against his doorframe. The young NSA agent was slightly glassy-eyed, and her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that had evidently been higher at some point in the evening. Fisher wasn't so drunk that he didn't notice that both her lipstick and eyeliner were ever so slightly smudged.

"Came to see if you wanted to help me drink my feelings," Camille drawled, holding up the bottle of wine gripped in her right hand. "But from the look," she paused to sniff the air, "and the smell of it, you've beaten me to the punch."

Fisher sniffed back at her before he took another sip of his whiskey.

"You coming in to join me?" he asked by way of invitation into the house. Camille huffed out a breath as she stepped inside and made a beeline for the living room couch, throwing herself down into a well-worn corner that she'd occupied more than a few times before.

"You want a glass?" Fisher offered, but Camille was already cracking the screw cap of the wine bottle and bringing it to her lips.

"Just you and me here," she quipped as Fisher sank down beside her. "No one to impress. Unless..." She trailed off as her eyes widened and she glanced quickly around the room. "Shit, is Stephanie here? I didn't even think..."

"No," Fisher grunted, taking a larger gulp of whiskey this time. "Stephanie's not here."

Clearly picking up on the finality in the tone of Fisher's voice, Camille gave him a sidelong glance before she took another swig of wine.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked hesitantly. Fisher made a rumbling sound low in his throat as he sank lower on the couch.

"Not much to talk about," he murmured, keeping his eyes on the television flickering in front of them. "Stephanie took the job in D.C. She asked me to go with her. I told her I wasn't coming, and thus ends round two of Fisher and Stephanie."

"Fishanie?" Camille offered up, and Fisher sneered at her in reply.

"Right, too soon," Camille acknowledged, turning her attention back to her wine bottle. When Fisher went to follow suit and take a drink of his own, he found he'd sipped so much that his glass was empty. Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself to his feet, caught himself as he swayed slightly, and then headed back to the kitchen. When he came back to the living room, the last few bottles of a six pack in one hand and a stemmed wine glass in the other, he found Camille with her wine bottle balanced between her knees, picking absently at the label as she stared at what Fisher finally figured out was yet another rerun of a Back To The Future movie. He held out the glass towards her.

"At least pretend to be the classy girl we know you are," he quipped at her, and Camille snorted even as she held out her hand. She poured herself a large serving and put aside the rest of the bottle as Fisher cracked open a beer beside her.

"So, what's your deal, tough guy?" Fisher asked, glancing over at the pretty brunette as she sipped at her drink. "Even after everything that happened, you were very quiet this afternoon. Seemed like you were plotting a mission of some kind. Where'd you go tonight?"

Camille's nostrils flared as the corners of her mouth turned downwards.

"My mission failed," she muttered, avoiding Fisher's gaze. "I put all of my feelings out on the floor, very publicly, and it didn't work."

"You tried to win Amanda back?" Fisher asked, a tinge of surprise in his tone.

"I got up on a stage, and I sang to her," Camille admitted. "I really thought putting myself out there would be all I needed to do, but it wasn't enough."

Fisher was staring at her in slight disbelief.

"You sing?" he coughed out. Camille gave him what could only be described as her signature death stare.

"Really not the important part of the story, Fishy," she growled. The detective recoiled slightly and held up one hand in surrender. Camille huffed out a sigh.

"She liked it," she murmured with a slight whine. "When I finished the song, she was smiling. We kissed. It was a good kiss."

"And yet, you're here, on my couch," Fisher observed.

"The good kiss was followed by a not so good conversation," Camille grumbled, her free hand balling into a fist. "Amanda, she just... she said we're still in different places. She doesn't think I'll ever be able to catch up to her, and moreover, she's not prepared to wait."

"Jeez, Camille, I'm sorry," Fisher rumbled, and Camille sighed again.

"I should have known it was too good to be true," she drawled. "I'm not genetically programmed to be happy."

Fisher reached across the couch and rested a reassuring hand on her knee. Camille sniffed at him. They both ignored the fact that there were tears glistening in her eyes.

"I'm always going to be here if you need a shoulder to lean on," Fisher told her, and Camille's mouth twitched as though she was fighting off the beginnings of a smile.

"I drink a little wine, you listen to me whine?" she quipped, her perfectly shaped eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Exactly," Fisher chuckled, bringing his beer bottle to his lips. Camille was blushing slightly as she mirrored his action, drawing in a mouthful of wine and settling further down into the couch cushions. For a while they both just sat there, staring at the television in front of them and periodically sipping from their drinks. Fisher had almost finished his beer when Camille looked over at him.

"Why didn't you go with Stephanie, to D.C.?" she asked inquisitively. "I thought things were going well with you guys."

"They were," Fisher murmured, draining the last of his beer and then bringing the bottle down so that he could pick at the label. It dawned on him that he'd picked up that habit from the girl next to him without even realising it. He glanced over at Camille, and found that she placed her wine glass aside so that she could wrap her arms around her legs. Her cheek rested on her knees as she watched Fisher carefully. Fisher cleared his throat.

"I loved Stephanie once," he said. "I'm pretty sure there's a part of me that always will. But we changed, grew as people, I guess. She... I, I guess we found things that were more important to us."

"She really wanted that job, hey," Camille murmured.

"More than she wanted to be with me," Fisher quipped, scratching unconsciously at his eyebrow. "But the thing is, it turns out that I found something, someone, that I wanted to be with more than her too."

"The program would have survived without you, Fishy," Camille drawled at him, her lips curled in a playful smile. "Wouldn't have been much fun, but we'd have made it through."

"It wasn't the program I was worried about," Fisher murmured back. Camille blinked at him for a moment, and then her eyes widened as she slowly straightened up.

"Fisher," she whispered cautiously.

"The Stitchers program may be my home," Fisher told her gruffly. "But you, Camille Engelson, you're my reason to stay."

Camille's whole face softened as her cheeks turned scarlet, and then she blew out a breath.

"My God, Fisher, your timing really sucks," she chastised softly. Fisher chuckled under his breath as he leaned forward to place his empty beer bottle on the coffee table, and then he rested his elbows on his knees as he directed his gaze towards Camille, who was biting down on her lower lip.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to realise," Fisher murmured. "But I'm not here to pressure you into anything. I just wanted you to know, that I'm here."

Camille looked pained.

"I'm not in a good place right now, Fish," Camille told him, fiddling with one of the chains around her neck. "If I did anything with you... I just had my heart broken. I make bad choices when I'm like this. And you're... you're too important to me to risk losing over something stupid."

Fisher reached over and ran a gentle finger across Camille's cheek and down the line of her jaw.

"I'll wait for as long as you need me to," he rumbled. "I won't risk you either."

Camille's coffee-coloured eyes flicked towards his unsurely.

"I'm glad you didn't leave, Fishy," she whispered. Fisher smiled in amusement, and then leaned forward and kissed her temple. When he moved to retreat back to his corner of the couch, Camille followed after him, nestling against his side and resting her head on his shoulder. Fisher couldn't help but smile as he toyed gently with a few loose strands of her ponytail.

"I think I need to give you a heads up," Fisher said after a moment, and Camille tilted her face upwards, cocking an eyebrow questioningly. Fisher chuckled gently.

"Pretty sure Maggie was flirting with me tonight," he told Camille, who scoffed in reply as she resettled herself against Fisher.

"That Fisher charm," she crooned teasingly. "It's irresistible."

"Maybe I should just take her up on it," Fisher commented lightly, and then laughed as Camille swung a punch at his ribs.

"Ok, ok!" he chuckled.

"How're you gonna let her down?" Camille asked him, and Fisher shook his head.

"Probably some line about crossing a line with the boss," he murmured, stroking his fingers down Camille's bare arm. "She'll be fine. Maggie's a force all of her own."

"And when it comes to us?" Camille enquired, her voice smaller this time, and more unsure. Fisher knew she wasn't looking at his face, so he allowed himself a triumphant smile before he spoke again.

"When," he drew the emphasis out on the word, "there's an us to tell people about, we'll find a way to share it, together."

Camille hummed under her breath. Fisher placed his fingers under her chin and turned her face back towards his. Camille wrinkled her nose at him.

"Right now, all you have to do is focus on you," Fisher murmured. "Everyone else can wait."

Camille's face softened, and she blushed when Fisher pressed another kiss to the side of her head. She curled herself against the detective's side, and tangled her fingers with Fisher's when he rested his hand against her arm. Fisher felt a warmth bloom in his chest as Camille let out a sigh that could only be described as contented. They'd come together when the time was right; of that Fisher was certain. Fisher couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to realise that his affection for her was so much more than friendship, but now that he'd figured it out, he wouldn't let her go. Camille Engelson was his reason, to smile, to live, to exist, but most of all, she was his reason to stay.

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 **A/N - I'll forever be a Camisher shipper...**


End file.
